


A Fortuitous Masquerade

by MaryTheGizka



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Bodyswap, Erratic Updates, F/M, I mean I do know where this is going but not exactly how to get there, On Hiatus, also: it occurs to me that some of it might count as body horror, in other words: it's a mess, so there's that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryTheGizka/pseuds/MaryTheGizka
Summary: As their chase for Luke Skywalker takes an unexpected turn, Darth Vader and Doctor Aphra are forced to - quite literally - see things through each other's eyes, and end up in an uncomfortable situation.





	1. Chapter 1

Following the kid in that temple had seemed like a good idea at first. Of course, as it often was the case, the keyword there was 'at first'. They were several meters under the surface now, yet she could hear the storm raging above her head, the ghostly sound of wind whistling inside the cave. As if being stranded in the middle of Rebel territory wasn't risky enough, they were now groping their way through the crumbling maze of its underground galleries, lit only by Vader's lightsaber and the eerie light of Beetee's eye – and, truth be told, she was enjoying every second of it. Of course, Aphra was the only one groping, since the droids' sensors didn't require much light to function and Vader… well, she didn't quite know how he got by. Perhaps he was using the Force, or perhaps his helmet had some kind of low-threshold sensors as well. Either way, the dark didn't seem to bother him.

Aphra took her hand off the wall and followed the red glow, picking up the pace in an attempt to keep up with Vader, and nearly tripping over as she stubbed her foot against what felt like stone rubble.

"Kriffing stones…" she grumbled, trying – and failing – to kick the stone aside.

"That, Doctor, was my foot."

"Oh… uh… I'm sorry. It's really dark in here. Did I hurt you?"

"No," came his grouchy reply.

"Cool. Let's… pretend I didn't do that." She paused for a second before she spoke again. "Hey, you know what I was thinking? this place gives me goosebumps. I love it. It's like we're about to meet a ghost or something."

Ironic that she'd say that, Vader thought, trying to ignore the voices ringing in his head.

"We most definitely have," he agreed.

"Wow! Really? Are they pissed?" He could nearly sense her eyes rounding with disbelief as she stopped in her tracks.

"Probably," he answered laconically, gesturing for her to keep walking – even if he doubted she could actually see his hand moving.

"Hm… okay? That… doesn't seem to concern you?"

"What I'm concerned about is finding the boy. I know he's still in here."

"Uh, if you say so… Where are we going exactly?"

"To the archives," he said as they took a left turn, entering a wider gallery. If the boy was looking for holocrons, as Vader assumed he was, it was the logical place to look first – not to mention the gut feeling that he was indeed getting closer.

Though he was not familiar with this particular temple, he was fairly certain they were on the right way. The voices grew louder with every step he took, reaching their full nuisance potential when he stopped before the massive door at the end of the corridor. His ears started buzzing as the voices surged up, clamoring and mingling in a cacophony of frantic whispers and pained screams, as if purposely trying to overwhelm his senses. Almost as if the ghosts were warning him away from something. Or someone. One voice in particular caught his attention. A voice he remembered far too well.

_…The very thing you swore to destroy... I will do what I must… don't try it!... you were the Chosen One!_

_Ah. Kenobi._ Or at least what little was left of him. He was there too. And by the sound of it, he did not want Vader to go through that door. All the more reason to push forward. What could Obi-Wan do about it, anyway? Lecture him? Play on his guilt? Vader was not impressed so far. _More powerful than I can possibly imagine. Is that so, old man? _

Ignoring the admonitions of his former mentor, Vader grabbed the handle and pushed the door open, revealing a large, barrel-vaulted aisle, lined with several rows of stone shelves, filled with glowing cubes and cones, with a depleted datapad here and there.

Aphra peeked inside the room and decided that it was safe to follow him inside, taking slow, unusually careful steps down the main aisle. It wasn't long before Vader froze on the spot and she could only assume that he, too, had caught sight of the shadow browsing through the shelves. The silhouette, she suspected, was that of the boy they had been looking for. Yet, she didn't manage to catch a better glimpse, for the shadow started and made a dash for the door, causing several artifacts to shatter on ground. Before either of them got a chance to catch up, an intense silver flash flared up before her eyes. There was no sound. No blast. Just the thud of her back slamming against the floor as her body was tossed next to Vader's black mass. Then a complete blackout.

Without opening her eyes, Aphra stirred a little and realized that she was still lying on the hard ground. Judging by the overall soreness of her body, the impact had been brutal. How long she had been out was a mystery, yet she wondered if she had received some kind of first aid, for, if she was to be honest, she smelled like a blasted medcenter. She didn't know if Vader had been knocked out as well, but she noticed that his breathing was loud – louder than ever – which meant he must have been close, and yet she didn't feel the usual ebb and flow of his respirator.

"Urgh… I feel like sh*t" she groaned, failing to rub her closed eyes as her hand encountered a hard surface instead.

"Wait a minute…" she paused, surprised by the deep rumble that had just escaped her mouth. "That's not my voice!"

Her eyelids jolted open at the realization. She quickly propped herself on her elbows, ignoring the dull pain she felt above both joints, and the sight before her nearly caused her heart to stop. It took her several seconds to finally put her thoughts into words:

"Uh… Why are you red? Why are you me?"

Vader jolted awake and blinked in surprise at the sound of his own voice, and for once he, too, remained dumbfounded by what he heard and saw. The question caused him to look down at his feet or rather… Aphra's feet? He was too confused to make sense of any of this, too stunned by the abundant input of his senses – Aphra's senses, from the feel of chilly air on her skin to the fruity taste of her lips. He brought a hand – an ungloved, flesh hand – to his face, and couldn't help but notice how soft it was compared to his own withered skin. His gaze stopped on the nearest shelf, caught by the mesmerizing glow of the holocrons and all those bright hues that had slowly washed away from his memory. He didn't, however, linger much on those thoughts, for he was beginning to feel dizzy, and suddenly realized that he had forgotten something: breathe. How could he not have breathed yet, he who had craved such freedom for the past two decades? He took a deep, forceful breath, filling his healthy, unburned lungs with the stale, dusty air of the temple. He didn't mind the dust. He wouldn't mind swallowing sand if it meant breathing freely again. For the first time in a long while, Vader felt good. Until the rush of oxygen produced its sobering effect, and realization dawned upon him: he could not stay that way. It was unreasonable. Impossible. Unthinkable. He had to be Darth Vader if his plans were to succeed. Whatever had happened needed to be undone, for both their sakes. He looked at her and took another breath, now fully aware that he would, sooner or later, have to renounce those again.

"I believe we have a problem, Doctor."


	2. Chapter 2

She stared at her own body through the red lenses of the mask, her shocked brain quickly putting the pieces together.

"Vader?" she asked, the vocoder failing to convey the full extent of her incredulity. Oh yes, they had a problem indeed.

Vader simply nodded, his face a mix of gravity and lingering dazedness.

She heaved herself to her feet – a process made quite strenuous by the weight of the armor – using both hands and legs to push herself off the ground, which, unfortunately, failed to make the exercise easier. She clenched her jaws in pain as she felt a stretch in her left shoulder, as if her flesh were about to tear itself open. She leaned against the nearest shelf, allowing herself to recover a bit before she spoke again, covering the sound of her heavy, relentless breathing and of that faint _something_ that seemed to be playing in the back of her mind.

"I think I pulled a muscle," she stated lamely. "What happened?"

"I do not know, Aphra, though I suspect it has to do with the holocron," he said, picking through the crystal shards that lay scattered around him.

_I told you so_, an old man's voice rang out, nearly causing her heart to spring out of her chest. She felt a cold shiver crawling up her backbone, and swallowed uneasily.

"Who's there?" she asked, her booming voice hiding the sudden panic that had her rooted on the spot. "Who said that?"

Vader arched an eyebrow, not quite certain what she was referring to.

"Who said what?" he asked. He hadn't heard anything, but if he was 'her' and she was 'him', in a manner of speaking, then there was only one plausible explanation: Force-ghosts.

"I told you so," she answered. _Oh. Right. _Then he knew _exactly_ who it was.

"Aphra, will you please tell that patronizing, backstabbing old goat to kindly dissipate and go haunt someone else?"

Aphra tilted her head in a questioning way – not an obvious motion by any means, but then he knew the collar to restrict such movements. His reaction may have been a little… personal. That was bound to raise questions. And if there was someone who would undoubtedly ask them, it was the nosy, boisterous woman whose body he was trapped in.

And Aphra was, indeed, bearing a perplexed look, her eyebrows knit together as she wondered _what the kriff he was talking about_, when the mysterious voice interrupted her train of thought with out a fatherly, yet utterly joyless chuckle, one that quickly died away to let her ponder what she had just heard. She took a few seconds to contemplate the situation and came to the conclusion that things might, perhaps, be more alarming than she had initially thought. She was several meters underground, in a vault that could crumble any minute, stormbound on this backwater Rebel rock – without a single bar or tech junkyard to hang at, mind you – trapped in someone else's body– which was definitely _not_ the most comfortable experience she had been through so far – and now, she could hear ghosts. Ghosts_._ Somebody pinch her. At least the spirit seemed to have taken Vader's not-so-subtle hint.

"I think he's gone…" she hazarded.

"No he's not. He's gloating in the shadows as we speak."

"Who is he?"

"Someone you had better not trust", he answered cryptically, his voice laced with unconcealed contempt. Vader knew that ghost well, too well for his own taste. Of that she was certain. Before she got a chance to ask what had happened between the two, a sharp beep from Beetee caused her head to swivel, with a suddenness she immediately regretted, wincing at the sudden tension of her neck muscles.

"Masters, Beetee is picking up several lifeform readings from the gallery beneath us."

"And?"

"And they seem to be heading for this level. Primary analysis suggests kinrath."

"You mean those big, slimy, venomous spiders?"

"Indeed, Mistress, and they are getting close. I might add that their venom has fascinating properties, though I rather doubt you wish to experiment them for yourself."

"Uh… not really, no." She turned to look at Vader, who was busy collecting the last pieces of the holocron. "Hey boss, this place is really cool and all but how about we get going? Like… now."

The words had barely left her mouth that a spindly, mucous appendage shot out from behind a shelf, curling around its corner. A sharp, sibilant hiss answered another one, then two, then three, and part of her could sense a ravenous hunger, simmering, growing, focusing onto them as the clamor built up.

"Oh… I have a bad feeling about this."

Suddenly the hissing turned to a din of shrieks, and the whole of the mob sprung out of the shadows, rushing towards their prey in a furious frenzy.

"Run!"

Now _that_ sounded like a plan. Aphra took to her heels but the creatures were fast, and the weight of the armor was slowing her down. She heard and felt the swarm narrowing in on her, a compact mass of kinrath now filling the corridor mere meters behind her, some crawling up the walls to outrun the stampede.

_Uh oh. This is bad. _

She felt a squishy mass drop down from the ceiling and right onto her head, fully occulting her vision as it latched onto her helmet and began trying to tear it off.

"A little help here?"

Vader stopped in his tracks upon hearing her call. Aphra's body was light and surprisingly nimble, and he hadn't realized how much of a distance he had covered until he turned to look back. Not that he could see much – the hallways were, indeed, quite dark for the bare eye – but he could see enough to know that she was far.

"Use your lightsaber!" he shouted.

"No way, I'm gonna cut my head off!" she exclaimed as more kinraths began climbing onto her.

Yes, that would be most embarrassing. But not as likely as being turned into canned kinrath food if things went on that way.

"Would you rather be eaten alive? Just do it!" he ordered, still fumbling for his blaster. Hopefully he still knew how to use one. "The lightsaber, not the head." Obviously. "Red button."

"_Everything_ is red!" she exploded, finally managing to throw the animal off her head.

_Fair enough._

"The one on the top!" he said, aiming his blaster at the mob.

"Okay. Okay. I got this." She ignited the weapon and began thrashing around like a … like what exactly? No matter. It seemed to be working.

"Guys you know you're allowed to help!" she exclaimed amidst the howling of the beasts, not bothering to dodge the spider legs she sent flying around.

"Oh, but this was so entertaining…" Triple-Zero grumbled, as he reluctantly turned to his companion. "Alright Beetee, you heard Mistress Aphra."

Both droids fired in concert, until Beetee grew tired of it and aimed his flamethrower in the direction of the melee. Piercing, dissonant shrieks of agony rang out, reverberating on the walls, but they were soon silenced by Aphra's panicked blows.

"You nearly set me on fire!" she berated the droid.

Vader bristled at the thought. Once was more than enough.

"Shall we go now?"

Aphra nodded and handed him the saber. "I'm not saying you're a bad shot but… I think we should trade for now."

"Agreed."

They hastened the pace and quickly reached the surface, setting foot on its dry, reddish sand, so thin that every step would lift a cloud of dust. The wind had subsided to a mild, gentle breeze, and the dim light indicated it was nearly nightfall. The surroundings were calm, without a sign of life… save for the jangling tone of Aphra's comlink – well, his comlink, which never missed an occasion to disturb him at the most inconvenient of times.

"Pick it up,' he sighed jadedly.

"Ah, Lord Vader. Glad you finally deigned to answer my calls. What is going on? I've been trying to reach you for hours."

Aphra wasn't quite sure what to respond to this.

"I… um… nothing. I'm fine, I'm all fine now. How are you?"

Tagge's only answer was an annoyed flick of his hand.

"You still haven't confirmed your presence at tomorrow's meeting. Shall I see you there?"

"Uh… I… yes?"

"Good. And I still await you report on the Anthan 13 incident. Make sure you bring the file along. Tagge out."

The hologram flickered and quickly disappeared, and Aphra couldn't help but voice the first thought that crossed her mind:

"Wait, I've got homework now?"


	3. Chapter 3

"What the hell is the Anthan 13 incident?" Aphra asked as they boarded the Ark Angel, a loud, resonant sound clanging inside her helmet as her head hit the cockpit's doorframe. She made a mental note to bow a little next time.

"Nothing to concern you with. You do not have the time nor the patience to provide General Tagge with bedtime reading."

Well, if the boss said so… she wasn't going to object to that.

"Fine by me," she said as she settled into the pilot's seat – a task she soon realized took more effort than she had initially thought. It felt like trying to fit in a toddler's chair. After a few contortions she leaned back in the seat, her two legs half-folded and squeezed against the dashboard and her shoulders sticking out on both sides of the backrest. The trip was going to be cramped.

Vader, for his part, was too busy re-enjoying the concept of leg space to even notice her struggling. Oh Force. Leg space. The notion had become rather foreign to him, and it wasn't long before he found himself stretching to his full length and half-slumping is the copilot's chair… until he realized Aphra had been staring and instantly sat upright, clearing his throat before he spoke.

"You may proceed with takeoff," he instructed.

"Sure, I may. That's still my ship," she mumbled as she took hold of the yoke and began taking the ship out of the atmosphere. "So… where are we going?"

"We are heading for the Kuat system. Tagge will be awaiting me aboard the Executor."

"Woohoo," she all but yawned. "I'm dying to meet that guy. Sounds like the life of the party."

"I was unaware of your passion for graphs and protocols."

"Urgh… swell. And here I was afraid of getting bored."

Aphra all but punched the coordinates into the computer and waited for the Ark Angel to respond. As soon as they'd made the jump into hyperspace, a low, prolonged growl filled the cockpit, and Aphra pricked up her ears to pinpoint the source of the noise.

"Hm. Either the hyperdrive is malfunctioning or…" she stopped as she noticed Vader's look of embarrassment. "Or someone's really hungry! Oh well. It's snack time anyway. There's some meiloorun in the food-safe," she said, gesturing to the space underneath the control panel. "Help yourself."

Vader took up the offer and pulled a large drawer from under the dashboard, revealing a fair supply of ration bars, two pulpy, bright orange fruits… and no small amount of Corellian ale. Now, was that really surprise?

He picked one of the fruits and hesitantly brought it to his mouth, sinking his teeth into its sweet, watery flesh. The flavor was pleasing, the smell even more so. A bit too rich perhaps, but Vader didn't give the barest hint of a damn. This was real, tasty, juicy food and he wasn't about to nibble.

Aphra did her best to ignore the fruity, saccharine scent which, somehow, only grew stronger by the second – and that, in spite of the heavy mask her face was covered with. It was all so frustrating. She was groggy, tired and hurting, and _Force was she hungry too_.

"Do you… have a feeding hatch or something?" she hazarded, not really expecting the question to get her anywhere.

Vader's eyebrows made a slight jump. This wasn't a question he had been prepared for.

"I do not."

Aphra hung her head slightly.

"Oh. Pity," she said, maintaining an outward appearance of control while her whole body screamed for the food before her, its smell so pervading she could almost taste it. All she could do was look, unable to touch it, her hunger so intense it bordered on nausea.

"However," Vader continued, "there are two tubes at the corners of your mouth. The left one is for feeding. Just… take a sip."

Aphra began fumbling awkwardly for the straw. She would have been a sight to see, had the mask not been in the way. After making a few faces, she got a hold of the nozzle, took a swig… and winced at the taste.

"And you call that food?!" she exclaimed, surprised she had managed not to spit it all out.

Vader shrugged.

"You may have injections if you so desire. Occasional oral feeding remains required to prevent complications."

"Hm… okay." She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes in an attempt to ease the headache that was building up. "No offense but your life feels like a hangover."

"I trust your expertise in that field," Vader said, casting a brief, yet telling glance at the bottles in the food safe.

"Well, thanks…" she grumbled, too tired to bother thinking of a comeback. She didn't elaborate on all the other discomforts that came with being trapped in Vader's body, from that stiffness in her neck to that dull ache in her chest and in the middle of her limbs, to her skin that felt too thin in some places, too thick in others, and somewhat over-stretched each time she tried to move. In short, things could have been better. And all she wanted to do was sleep. Thankfully, the ability had not eluded her – she was still Aphra, after all. A loud, deep yawn escaped her mouth; the sounds began mingling and fading in the background, the incessant throbbing of her temples her only lullaby as she drifted off to sleep.

Aphra jerked awake and straightened up in her seat. She didn't know how long she had been out; it had felt like a blink. The headache had not lessened a bit and the sight of the vortex outside the Ark Angel was already starting to make her feel dizzy. Before she got a chance to bring up the question of their whereabouts, the ship came out of hyperspace, emerging right in front of an imperial flotilla.

Her gaze was quickly caught by the gigantic, spear-shaped ship docked to the impressive scaffold in front of them, fighters and haulers swarming around it like a hive fussing around its queen.

"Holy k… I mean, most impressive," she said, drawling her words a little.

"Indeed. And that is why I suggest you signal our position before…" he was cut short as Aphra suddenly swerved downwards, narrowly avoiding the torpedo that exploded inches away from the canopy. It had been an instinctual move – she hadn't seen it coming – but she somehow doubted her ability to pull off that stunt again. Two TIEs darted their way on what she could have sworn was a near-collision course, and Aphra swerved right to dodge a salvo, flying the ship with one hand as she reached for the ship's comm system.

"Stop shooting!" she yelled as she pressed the button. The mere sound of her voice seemed to freeze the whole scene. At first she was only met with eerie silence, the sizzle of the line and a stunned sense of fear – hers and theirs alike. Both TIEs stopped firing and flew past them in a beeline, carrying on their paths as if the two pilots had suddenly dropped dead. A few more seconds passed, loaded with dread and discomfort, then an officer's face appeared on the holo. The man visibly gulped upon meeting her eye, opened his mouth as if to speak, and immediately closed it to gulp again.

"I presume you have an explanation for this?" she finally asked.

"I am truly sorry my Lord, we did not recognize your transponder codes and we assumed…"

"You assumed wrong," she cut him short. "Have two TIEs escort us to the main hangar. I trust that is within your skillset?" she added with a hint of sarcasm.

"Y-Yes, my lord," the man stuttered, "I'll be sending them immediately."

Aphra ended the call and turned to Vader, nervous and yet eager to assess her performance.

"How was I?"

"Lenient."


	4. Chapter 4

The Ark Angel had landed aboard the Executor, and Aphra breathed a sigh of relief as she turned the engines off, letting go of the yoke she had been clutching for dear life.

"That was a close one," she said, brief flashes of the scene still playing in her mind. A low, nervous chuckle escaped the vocoder. "That guy's face when I commed, though. Totally worth it."

"You had better get used to it," Vader said, getting up from his seat. "They'll be expecting us any minute. For the sake of credibility I suggest you restrict your…" "You watch," she cut him off, pointing both indexes at him as she stood up and headed for the exit. Oh, he had a bad feeling about this.

Vader watched with suspicion as she walked down the access ramp, puffing her chest out and putting her fists on her hips as she set foot in the hangar, taking a look at the soldiers that formed a guard of honor on each side of her path. A man in grey came her way and planted himself there, failing to notice him as he gave her a military salute.

"My Lord, General Ozzel wishes to convey his apologies for the earlier incident. Grand General Tagge is waiting for your arrival at the command center."

"We shall be there immediately," she nodded.

Aphra's wording caused the man's head to jerk back. A look of bewilderment passed over the soldier's face as he – finally – noticed Vader standing next to Aphra.

"My apologies, Madam, I had not… should I have quarters made up for you?"

"It won't be necessary," Vader answered tersely.

The man's eyes rounded, went to Aphra, then back to him.

"We will be departing shortly," he clarified. The last thing he wanted was the whole Imperial Navy getting all wound up about whatever idea had crossed the man's mind. "Now if you'll excuse us, we have to get going."

"Of course, Madam," the officer said, bowing slightly as he stepped aside.

Without further dwelling on the matter, Vader set off and all took hasty strides towards the door, to the point Aphra felt he would have dragged her had she not followed.

"Now," he said, leading them through the ship's grim, angular network of dark gray hallways and hissing elevators, "I need you to avoid excessive talking. Not that Tagge values your input. You have located two Rebel bases on Anthan Prime and Vrogas Vas, and taken action accordingly. That is all you have to report."

They stopped in front of a heavy metal door, and she saw Vader's index landing on the opening button.

"Wait wait wait, is Tagge… heeey…" her voice went down as the door slid open, revealing a dozen of officers gathered around a holotable displaying a galactic map. A few men arched their eyebrows. _'Heeey?' Really, Aphra?_ she berated herself, biting her lower lip as she noticed their expressions. She took an awkward step into the room, and it felt like dipping her toes into a see of exasperation. Not that she was unfamiliar with that sort of reaction – not at all, actually – but she had never felt it on such a physical level. She stopped dead in her tracks and planted herself there, waiting for someone to speak.

The man from the holocall – Tagge – put his datapad down.

"Ah. Lord Vader. So kind of you to finally join us. As it happens, we were expecting your report."

"I have located two encampments harboring Rebel forces on Anthan Prime and Vrogas Vas and taken action accordingly," she recited. "I hardly consider this a matter worth reporting."

"I see," Tagge said as he turned to Vader, his measured voice failing to hide a tinge of irritation. "And this is?"

"Doctor Aphra. She, uh… she has been assisting me."

Tagge let out a sigh. "Very well. Take a seat." The officer turned back to the rest of the men.

"As I was saying, ISB sources indicate that several Rebel units have been scouring the Outer Rim since the destruction of the Death Star, in all likelihood, attempting to establish a new base. Our scanning methods have proven costly and of limited efficiency, hence the need to rationalize our…" from that point Aphra decided to stop paying attention. The rest of Tagge's speech was, to put it simply, a hotchpotch of bureaucratic jibberish, with the occasional dig at the assembly for their 'appalling lack of results'. The sequence of frowns and eye-rolls successively passing on Vader's face proved amusing for a short while, but the meeting was dragging on and Aphra was starting to consider taking a nap then and there. Vader's body was quick to tire. Having reached the quick conclusion that no one would notice, she decided to close her eyes and stretch her still sore legs – her still sore everything, really – and slouched lazily against the backrest of her seat. However, she soon got the feeling that someone's eyes were on her, and awoke to see Vader glaring at her from the other end of the table. It was then that she realized several men had stood up, and Tagge himself was turning the holotable off. Aphra took it as her queue and got up as well, Tagge's eyes following her the whole way to the door with that haughty, yet almost blank expression – the conceited fish look, she decided to call it – that seemed perpetually etched on the man's face.

Vader lost no time in following suit, or at least tried to do so, for Motti had walked up to him and planted himself there like the useless twit he was, his heavy stare stopping on every inch of his short height. But this was neither the place, nor the time, nor the person for Motti to feast his beady eyes on. Vader balled his fists in annoyance, until a loud crack of his knuckles pleaded for him to ease the pressure.

"I don't believe we have been introduced. General Conan Antonio Motti," the man said, extending a clammy hand to him.

"You are correct," Vader answered, disdaining to shake it. "We have not."

The General flashed him an awkward smile as he pulled his hand back, unnerved but not deterred by this callous greeting.

"So…What is your function here?"

Vader didn't bother hiding his contempt.

"I was wondering the same about you, General."

"Good one" Motti said, clearing his throat as he forced a smile back onto his face. "I was hoping, perhaps, that we could talk more at length over dinner tonight. Say, 20.00 in my quarters?"

"No. Now, if you'll excuse me, some people on this ship have a schedule to keep to."

With that, Vader stormed past him, leaving the general staring at a blank wall. Damn Motti. Of all the men and women who had been aboard the Death Star, it was that bootlicking, good-for-nothing slimeball who, for some obscure reason, had been off that blasted thing when the Rebels had blown it up, and who not only saw fit to engage in inane small talk with him, but also had the gall to ask him for diner, all the while ogling him way below the eyes. Or her. No matter. Both options were, strangely, equally irritating, and none lessened his urge to snap the general's neck.

He stomped through the hallway to catch up with Aphra, too glad to put distance between Motti and him.

"My lord?" a voice hazarded. Both of them stopped and turned around as one man, finally noticing the jittery, mousy, and slightly out of breath officer who must have been running to catch up with them.

"Yes?" Aphra said, waiting for the man to speak.

"The emperor commands you make contact with him," the officer answered with a slight bow of his head.

For a brief second, Vader thought he had misheard, but Aphra's sudden start left no possible doubt. The captain's eyes grew wider, but he did a good job of keeping his composure.

"My lord?"

A few seconds passed in awkward silence before Aphra responded.

"Please inform the emperor that I will be making contact shortly."

"Yes, my Lord."

The officer saluted and headed back to the bridge, walking with firm, resolute steps while they remained standing there like two idiots.

"Well, kriff," she grunted, her arms dangling at her sides as she stared at the floor.

"Kriff indeed."


	5. Chapter 5

"The emperor expects you to bow when he appears."

Aphra puffed in derision.

"Refer to him as master," he went on, "ask what his bidding is… and try to forget you're you."

Aphra rolled her eyes beneath the mask.

"Now you just make me sound like I can't behave."

The bridge's door slid open, and a wrinkled, hooded face appeared above the holo-table. It felt as if the air had suddenly dropped colder, and for a few seconds Aphra remained like frozen, paralyzed like a cornered prey, until a nudge on the foot called her back to reality. She knelt in front of the holo.

"What is thy bidding, my master?" She hated all of this, from the act of submission itself to the feeling of dread creeping up from her stomach. Somehow, she was convinced the old man was no friend.

"There is a great disturbance in the Force…"

"Oh?" _Now what the heck was that?_

"I must say I was expecting a bit less nonchalance. I admit I am… concerned, Lord Vader. About you. Your strength in the dark side is waning, my friend. It would be a pity if you were no longer able to serve me…"

The discomfort she'd felt since the day had begun was nothing compared to the way she felt now. He had spoken calmly, warmly even, but the atmosphere was heavy and loaded with thunder. _Not the atmosphere, the Force, she corrected herself_. Damn, she was having a hard time with this.

"And who is this woman you saw fit to bring here?"

Aphra gulped down, wondering what explanation she might give. Of course it was Vader the Emperor wanted to talk to, so it only made sense for him to be there as well. But she couldn't just tell him that.

"Well?" he said, irritability piercing through his mask of benevolence.

_I can do this. I can do this. Be cool, Aphra_.

"Sorry," she said, resisting the urge to cower. "Nervous." A slight pang of annoyance hit her from behind. "This," she said, gesturing at Vader, "is Doctor Aphra. My new assistant," she saw the Emperor arch an eyebrow at her. "She's great."

"I see. Vader, are you on morphine?"

"No," she said, shaking her head with difficulty. "But I suppose I could use some."

Vader blinked in surprise at hearing his own voice admit it to his master.

"Forgive my apprentice, Doctor. His… idiosyncrasies will always surprise me. Will you please enlighten me as to your function?"

_Retrieve Luke Sk… Of course I cannot say that. Focus. Shield._

"I… tend to the logistics of Lord Vader's missions and take part in the…" he paused for a second, realizing how out of character he sounded. "Oh kriff, you know what? I steal info and blow stuff up. Mostly." _That should do it for now_.

"Ah yes," his master said, casting Aphra a pointed glance, "Lord Vader seems to have a tendency to let others 'blow stuff up' as you say …"

There was a momentary silence before the emperor resumed speaking.

"But we are digressing, aren't we? I expect you to find the source of this disturbance… and destroy it. Is that clear, Lord Vader?"

Aphra gulped down again.

"Yes, my master."

The hologram vanished in a mere split second, but the cold, dark presence still floated in the room, weighing on her shoulders as she pulled herself up. They walked towards the Ark Angel, eager to get away from the bridge.

"Force, that was terrible."

"It was," Vader acquiesced. "But we are not in danger yet."

"Yet?" she asked, plopping down on the pilot's chair. Vader nodded.

"If my master finds out …"

"I get it. We're super dead. So what do we do now?"

"We should go to Mustafar."

This didn't fail to pique Aphra's curiosity.

"And why should we be going there?"

Vader looked away, sighing.

"Your medical condition requires a certain degree of maintenance."

"Yeah, I guess I could use some pampering" she yawned, thinking about the pain in her limbs, her chest, her back…

"That is not the term I would use," he corrected. "The procedure is… unpleasant."

"Now you're scaring me. What's my 'condition' anyway?" Of course she would ask this. It was a miracle she had spent the whole day without asking. But she would end up knowing one way or another.

There was no proper way to tell her this, just as there was no way to explain it in a detached, professional manner. The years hadn't mellowed the memory in the slightest, and it remained as raw and vivid as ever. And though the pain it had kindled made him stronger in the dark side, to tell her the story himself, through his own words and memory, would amount to no less than standing there naked in front of her. And that was not something he had the stomach for.

"My medical record is on my data pad. Good night, Doctor" with that, he left the room – no, he fled it. It was the word, really, he was fleeing. Coward, his inner voice whispered. Oh, but was he? Was he really? Was it cowardice to do what he had done, to loose what he had lost and to still keep fighting for a future that never seemed to come? He had done what others would not do, would not stoop down to. "The hero with no fear" they used to call him. And yet his mind still rang with the accusation. Coward, the word echoed in his skull once more. He was not a coward, not on the battlefield, at least. But he was not dealing with military matters here; this was entirely and purely personal.

Aphra remained sitting in the cockpit, curiosity and fear gnawing at her. She had always wondered what was beneath the armor, though she had never quite expected to end up inside of it herself. She went through the record. All of it. From the irremediable lung damage to the third degree burns to how each nerve connected to the wiring of her limbs. In retrospect, this explained a lot. She took one of her gloves off and examined the hand beneath it, touching each finger to her thumb. The limb was bare of synthskin, but mimicked human shape and movement finely enough for the glove to fool the onlooker. She brought her attention back to the record, each word and each blueprint more horrifying and captivating. Her stomach churned and twisted, not in disgust, but out of fear. She had to get some sleep. Tomorrow would be a long day.

—-

She had expected much. But not this. He had told her routine maintenance would be unpleasant. But he had said maintenance. Not torture. And it was becoming clear that reality was a lot closer to the latter.

Aphra took a deep, wheezing breath through the respirator and braced herself for the pain, pressing her eyelids shut while her body was held over the bacta tank. Four clamps closed on her prosthetics, ready to pull them out of their sockets. She bit her lower lip in an attempt to keep her mouth shut, but could not hold the scream that tore the air as the claws yanked her metal limbs off, screaming her mangled alveoli out as each neural interface shot frantic pulses up her remaining nerves. She didn't know the human body was capable of enduring such pain. It felt as if her real, actual flesh limbs were had just been torn in the middle – they hadn't, at least not recently, but whoever had conceived them had made sure the pain levels were more than realistic. The thought caused a shiver to run down her ruined, heavily implanted spine, and droplets of cold sweat appeared on her forehead. She clenched her jaw as wires were plugged into the metal end of her stumps, and another claw closed around her waist, lowering her into the bacta tank. At last, relief.

She unwound a little as the fluid began to douse the pain. It still hurt, of course – would it ever stop? – but she no longer felt like screaming her lungs out. She closed her eyes as the bacta diffused through the cracks of her skin, soothing her ravaged flesh.

She didn't want to get out. She would rather stay floating here, in this helpless posture, stripped of all dignity, than have those droids 'put her back on her feet'. Hell, even Triple-Zero was less of a sadist. A whirring awoke her from her half-slumber, and she knew the machines were coming for her. She winced in anticipation as the bacta was stirred by something plunging into it, and hard metal rings made her wince as they closed around her stumps.

Her head shot up from the headrest she had fallen asleep on and she looked around in shock, panting and shaking. It was a dream. Only a dream. She was fine – as fine as she could be in this wrecked body. Her relief, however, was short-lived.

The strange feeling of being watched began to take root in her stomach. She looked to the left and found herself staring into a livid, translucent face. She blinked. It was gone.

The vision had been so brief it could have been a trick of her hazy mind, yet she felt a presence hovering around her. There was something strangely familiar about it, something comforting and threatening all at once. The specter had faded had soon as she'd seen it, but Aphra could have sworn she saw the old man smile, the sad, quivering smile of one that had just cried.

"Who are you?" she asked. Only silence answered. Her heart started pounding louder. She was losing her mind. Was this her life now?She had to get out of this room, take a walk, talk to someone, do _something_.

Darth Vader was lying on a bed. A very plain, normal bed. With pillows. And a blanket. The mattress was quite thin and a little worn out, but it was more comfort than he had been used to. And yet his restless mind would not let him enjoy it, perhaps because the simple pleasures of human life were something he had long ceased to deserve. To think of this lithe, graceful body hosting his disgusting carcass of a soul … Vader dismissed the thought, and other worries took its place. What if they were forced to remain like this? What if the emperor found out? What if he heard about his son? The potential consequences were bone-chilling. Peace was a lie, and would remain a lie as long as his master lived. He forced his eyelids shut. Tomorrow he would examine what was left of the holocron. It was necessary if they were all to survive.

There was a knock at the door, a hissing breath, then another.

"You may enter," he said.

Aphra appeared in the doorway.

"May I ask the reason of your presence here?"

Aphra seemed to hesitate.

"I… I think I'm going crazy. I see people I've never met, places I've never been to…" There was a long silence.

"The 'maintenance procedure', as you call it, it's more than just… unpleasant, isn't it?"

Vader nodded.

"I know it's weird and all but can I… stay a bit? Please?"

Aphra heard him sigh as he shifted on the mattress and gestured to the spot next to him. She winced as her back hit the mattress.

"You know what else is bugging me? We're literally in each other's body and I have no idea what your name is." She felt more than saw him arch an eyebrow at her. "Your real name," she clarified. "Mine's Chelli, by the way. Don't ever call me that."

Vader swallowed hard. It was commonly assumed that Skywalker had died in the assault on the Jedi temple. Few had ever known the truth, and fewer yet had lived to tell it, for it was not a fact he was willing to make public. But if Aphra could be trusted to inhabit his body… perhaps, only perhaps, she could be trusted with his name. A lump formed in his throat as he considered relinquishing this piece of information. Did it even mean anything anymore? It didn't have to be the full name… He hesitated for a moment, chewing on the blasted name, and took one more deep breath before he let it out.

"Anakin. My name is Anakin."  



	6. Chapter 6

There were no more nightmares that night. No blood. No screams. Just the laughter of a child running in the twin sunset, his small frame all but blurred in cloudlets of golden dust. A chrome ship flew across the horizon. Night fell, and the child was gone.

Aphra awoke to the sound of water running in the fresher, her eyelids still heavy with sleep. Red tainted her vision again. She propped herself on her elbows, absent-mindedly staring at her feet. _Nope, still not myself. And for kriff's sake Aphra, take your boots off next time._

Vader's words echoed in her mind. _Anakin. My name is Anakin._

"Anakin," she repeated, a tinge of drowsiness filtering through the vocoder. "Hmm." Now, where in the Seven Sith Hells had she heard that name? It was not a common one by any means, but there was a certain familiarity to it, one that made her positive she had heard it before. The only question was when, and where. Not in a cantina. Not from imperial mouths. Nor rebels for that matter. No, it had to be older than that. A last name would have helped. Part of her had the feeling the answer was right under her nose, and yet she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She let out a wheezing, frustrated sigh and leaned back on the mattress.

Vader stood still in the fresher, staring blankly at the corroded wall. A child's voice echoed in his mind. "I am a person and my name is Anakin!" His grip on the shower-head tightened. _Stop_, he berated himself. Dwelling on the past was pointless. It was another time, another life. One he had put an end to. Was there even a point in telling her that? Other than digging up his stash of stinging, compromising, carefully buried memories, that is. Was it even the truth? It wasn't his name anymore. And if she found out... what? What then? He had been explicit enough about the consequences of blackmail. She would not try it, not if she had any judgement.

Vader released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, finally taking notice of the trickle of water on his skin. Water. Not a thick, gooey bacta-based replacement, but soft, tepid _water_. It was a waste of space and resources, really. Most spaceships were equipped with sonic showers these days, leaving more room for cargo, but the Ark Angel, for all Aphra liked to brag about it, was an ancient model, and clearly there were far more urgent upgrades to worry about. Still, its old-fashionedness was proving enjoyable. The patterns on his arms tingled as water dribbled down. The fact made him curious, and he found himself examining the markings. The lines covered the whole limb, from the outside of her forearm to the side of her chest... he promptly averted his gaze, forcefully focusing on more pragmatic concerns. They would soon reach Mustafar. From then, he could proceed to work out a solution. The uncertainty of the situation made planning ahead difficult, but the outline of the day, in itself, would be rather simple : take care of the landing, drop Aphra at the med-chamber, examine the holocron while she stewed in bacta. Drop by the archive. Pick Aphra up. Summarize findings. Easy. Even restful.

Aphra stared at the ceiling, unable to go back to sleep. The noise of the hyperdrive had stopped. The ship came to an abrupt halt, rattling. She had to do something about that motivator. She heard a door slide open in the distance.

"Triple-Zero?"

Another door. Hushed footsteps.

"Triple-Zero? Betee? I gave you specific orders not to sneak up on me!"

"Oh, we would hardly be so amateurish, Mistress! Would we Beetee?"

The droid's voice made her jump. Two red orbs lit up next to the fresher door, then a third one a bit lower.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted.

"Why, can a devoted droid be blamed for watching over his masters?"

"You have no idea how scary this sounds." She paused for a second. "Wait... If you two are here, and Vader's in there... then who's outside the cabin?"

Aphra reached for her blaster, her heart pounding madly as the hum of a lightsaber gave her part of the answer. Alright. That was bad.

_Easy,_ she told herself, _you're a Sith Lord, remember? That Jedi wannabe out there? Piece of cake. _Except she was _not_ a Sith Lord, and she had no idea what was going on. She froze, trying to hold her breath. She couldn't. There was no hiding. No running. The footsteps had stopped. She aimed her blaster at the door, bracing herself for the fight to come. The lock beeped sharply.

The door slid open, and a slender, hooded figure stepped in, lightsaber in hand. But instead of moving closer, the figure stopped, transfixed, and utterly silent. Seconds went by, maybe minutes, until the figure dropped its hood, revealing the drawn, tired features of a Togruta woman.

Aphra remained still. A myriad of emotions passed over the woman's face : resolve, anger, fear, hope. There was something familiar about that face, just as there was with the name Vader had given her. Most footage of the Clone Wars had been taken off the holonet, yet Aphra could have sworn she had seen her face on the holonews, a long, long time ago. The woman started trembling. Maybe Aphra was, too. A fiery flash brightened her eyes, and she blinked it off, looking down at her blade. Aphra's fingers tightened, ready to pull the trigger, a visceral instinct telling her to _do it_. But the woman didn't budge. She drew a strained, shaky breath, and Aphra could feel her forcing tears down her throat. A sad, wavering smile tugged at the woman's lips.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, Skyguy."

Aphra's jaw went slack, the last word hitting her like a bucket of cold water. That was it. That was the name : Anakin Skywalker.


	7. Chapter 7

Her mind started racing. Skywalker. Like the kid they were after. At first, Vader's quest had seemed rather futile to her, a matter of law enforcement at best : Luke Skywalker was just a kid with a lucky shot. Not a bright one at that. But now… stars. She was a dad.

The sight of the Jedi taking a step towards her, lightsaber still in hand, shook her out of her thoughts.

"Wow wow wow!" she exclaimed, springing out of the bed. " Turn that thing off, will you?"

The woman cast her a puzzled look. Vader may have phrased things a little differently. She straightened up and cleared her throat, attempting to regain a facade of composure.

"We need not be adversaries," she added with a slight nod.

The woman's grip tightened around her lightsaber, and for a split second Aphra thought she was about to strike her down. Her shaking intensified.

"Don't…" the woman warned her.

"Don't _what_?"

"You know full well what I'm talking about!"

"I… I don't." It was the truth.

"Don't play dumb with me, Anakin!"

"I'm not! And that is not my name."

For a second, Aphra wondered if she had revealed too much. But she suspected Vader would have denied it too.

"Oh, no. Not this again!"

"Not WHAT?" Aphra burst out.

"Is this all a joke to you?" the woman snarled. "Have you got any idea what you did to me? How long I remained trapped inside that Sith temple, with nothing but rats and dark spirits? Have you got any idea, how you've haunted my nightmares with that eerie, ugly mask of yours, or what I had to…"

Aphra raised an index in objection.

"That was rude," she cut her off. The jedi blinked in surprise.

"What the… Did you just try to lecture me on my manners?"

"Maybe? Look. I don't know what I'm doing, what I've done or what you want. All I know is you're freaking me out and I have no idea why you're here." The words had flown out of her mouth in a panicked stream, each one bumping into the next.

The woman took a deep breath, hooking her saber to her belt. She took a step forward, a second and a third, until she was standing right in front of Aphra.

"I'm here because I know my master's still in there."

A nervous laugh escaped Aphra._ Poor girl_.

"Well…"

The fresher door came open, and Vader stepped out… in nothing but a towel. The jedi's jaw dropped. Her eyes went back and forth between the two of them.

"You… she… are you…?"

Aphra considered pretending. It would be wiser. Safer. And perhaps a bit of an indulgence.

Vader squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. First his name and now _her_. Apparently, the Force was in a rather foul mood, and had decided to work it off by throwing it all in his face. Memories of his past, of his crimes, of the man he once was, plaguing him, poisoning him, and now all but laid bare for the Doctor to see. Perhaps he had brought it upon himself. Learning about the boy had been the first dent to the dam, and his admittance to Aphra - his stupid, blasted name - had only widened the breach. Now the waters of his past ran wild and uncontained, colliding and mixing in a maelstrom of remembrance. Anakin Skywalker. Darth Vader. Were they one and the same? He didn't know anymore. He didn't want to know.

"Ahsoka…" The word made the girl's eyes pop.

Vader sighed.

"How do I even explain this…"

Aphra came forward.

"Let me help. I'm her. She's me… or rather, I'm him and he's me. It's a little confusing. My name's Aphra. Doctor Aphra."

Ahsoka blinked, frozen in place.

"How?"

"A Jedi holocron on Vrogas Vas. That damn Rebel kid dropped it and bam! We body-jumped," Aphra explained, slamming a fist into her palm.

The jedi plopped down on the bed, looking down at the floor.

"Suggestions are appreciated," Vader said.

"Suggestions, eh? No 'hi', no 'sorry'. 'Suggestions'. "

"I have nothing to be sorry about." That was a lie. But marooning her on Malachor had been_ mercy_. And weakness.

"It's not just Malachor, you know. It's all those years you served the Empire. It's all that smoke rising from the Temple, all that pain tearing through the Force when you slaughtered them all. For each master you took out, how many children died? I didn't know, then. I didn't know it was you. I blamed myself when I found out. I still do. But I miss you."  
A tear rolled down her cheek. Vader looked away.

"Then you are a fool."

"Oh, I am," she smirked. "I learned from the best. Now here's the deal : you don't turn me in, you don't murder me, and in exchange I'll do what I can to help you get your body back. Doctor Aphra here may not want to remain the emperor's lapdog forever. And since you've already messed up the galaxy… I really don't see how you could _still _make things worse. Not that I'm not hoping to change your mind in the process."

Oh, he didn't doubt it for a second. But she would fail, that much he knew.

"I have chosen my path. I am in control."

That was a lie too, a blatant one at that. Ahsoka looked him up and down.

"Oh, I see that," she scoffed. "And how are things working out, so far?"

It was Aphra who answered her.

"How does it look?" She turned to Vader. "Look, boss, I'm sorry but being you sucks. And if the jedi wants to help I'm not about to say no."

Vader exhaled loudly. What would he not have given to never face his apprentice again, to forget everything, up to her very name? But Aphra was right. The longer they remained trapped, the more likely it was for his master to find out. Her offer of assistance was not entirely unwelcome.

"Agreed."

Ahsoka sighed in relief. The next thing he knew he was being squeezed into a forceful hug.

"Hey Skyguy?" Vader glowered at her. "You're tiny."

* * *

The Ark Angel had landed on Mustafar, and the moment Aphra stepped out she instantly felt the heat emanating from the lava flow beneath the platform. The fortress stood alone on the barren wasteland, a stark, dark monolith above hot, molten rock. It was a dour, forbidding place. Not unlike its owner, when she thought about it.

They entered a bare, empty hangar dominating the lava river, and a pale, hooded man crept out from who knew where, his steps completely silent as he made his way to them. He bowed without a sound. Aphra even wondered if the man was breathing.

"My Lord," came his hushed greeting. His eyes darted quickly between the three of them, betraying his bewilderment. "My ladies."

Aphra was about to greet him back, but realized she didn't know his name. She settled for a brief nod and gestured at the droids.

"Take those droids to maintenance," she said, eliciting an enthusiastic beep from Beetee.

"Very well, My Lord. Should I ready a bacta tank as well?"

"I shall see to it myself. Leave us."

The man left the hangar with the droids in tow.

"Such a cozy little house. Does the whole staff capes?" Ahsoka said when the door closed behind him.

"There is no 'staff'. Only Vanee."

Ahsoka and Vader spent the rest of the day cooped up in the library. None of them spoke a word. Meanwhile, Aphra suffered.

The procedure was indeed, as Vader had mildly put it, unpleasant. The bacta had provided some degree of relief, but now she had to get out. Appendages caught her, and the tank drained itself, descending into the floor. Aphra gritted her teeth, forcing herself to hold still as her limbs were plugged back into place. Sudden input raced up her nerves, and a whimper escaped her. The droids put her down. Done, at last. They hadn't gone easy on her, and she would have to check a few screws, but she was alive, clean and uninjured. Or rather, as uninjured as she could be, she thought as she looked at herself. Her gaze trailed up the length of her arms, gray metal giving way to muscle and scar tissue. There was a metal box grafted to her sternum, branching out to the sides for electrodes to connect. But her medical record had more than satisfied her technical curiosity, and so her eyes lingered elsewhere. The appearance of the Dark Lord was anything but banal. She was a mess - that was beyond question - but a shapely one. Her abdomen was taut, her shoulders wide and square, and steel blue eyes looked back at her from the reflective surface of her fingertips. And after what she had been through, well… focusing on the upsides couldn't do any harm. It was at that moment that the door slid open, and Darth Vader caught her gaping.

"I suppose apologies are in order," he said, not quite meeting her gaze.

Aphra narrowed her eyes.

"What for?"

"For the embarrassment my entrance may have caused." He paused, biting his lips. "And for the view."

Aphra smirked.

"Why? The view's not bad," she said with a wink.

Vader snorted.

"Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Why not? A dish is a dish, no matter the cooking."

Vader's face turned crimson. Under normal circumstances, she would have feared for her windpipe, but as it was, the Sith Lord was pint-sized, unable to use the Force, flustered and confused.

"Aphra, please…"

Alright then, mostly confused. Shocked, maybe.

"I… I didn't mean to say that. That part about the cooking."

Vader nodded silently.

"So," she said, contorting to pull her zipper up, "how did that research go? Did you find anything?"

"Save for a holonet story about that Sith Lady who tied her spirit to a broom?"

"Damn. That'd make a hell of a movie. Tell me you never tried that."

"Can we please have a semblance of an adult conversation? "

"Fine. Did you bring the shiny-breaky-holo-thingy?" she asked, shoving her helmet on.

"Holocron," he corrected, handing her the small pouch in which he carried the debris. She spread the pieces on the medical table and began going through them. A polished, nail-sized chip caught her attention, its center occupied by a blurred engraving. Her index traced the groove, mechanically following the all-too-familiar pattern. Her father had spent years bending over such markings, scouring the Outer Rim for whatever might lead him to his fabled Fortress of Garn. Had it not been for that symbol, her mother would still be alive. Aphra swallowed hard.

"I know someone who might help. "


	8. Chapter 8

The Ark Angel took off and dashed over the valley, piercing through clouds of ash as it made its way up. Aphra punched the coordinates into the computer. In a matter of hours, she would be home. A mental scoff followed. '_Home'_. It wasn't home, really. Never had been. Just a bed and a roof. And if there was _one_ thing she hadn't planned on doing with Vader, it was bringing him along to pay her father a visit. But there was little choice in the matter. Aphra sighed, a slightly louder wheeze, casting Vader a brief glance. Maybe she should give him a heads up, just in case. Or maybe not. It had been such a long time since she'd last seen her father, he would hardly notice the change. She'd blame suspicious behavior on 'the booze'. At least _that_ he would believe, with all the credit he gave her. All they had to do was show up and mention the Ordu Aspectu, and he'd just roll with it. Things would be fine. Probably.

She turned towards Vader, then towards Ahsoka, and towards Vader again. None of them had spoken since they had taken off. The hyperdrive whirred and hummed, filling the gaps between her breaths, and a sense of discomfort hung around like stale air, making her throat clench a bit. Subtle wafts of emotions flowed her way, spikes of anger and dips of guilt, surges of hope followed by dread. Although she knew they came from them, she couldn't pinpoint which was whose. It was like bathing in feeling-soup. She didn't like it.

Ahsoka made an attempt to break the silence.

"So... do you intend to spend the whole trip pouting?"

Vader didn't bat an eye.

"Why not."

Oh, Aphra fully believed that. Vader had never struck her as the most cheerful person to be around, and she'd gotten used to his 'moods', as Triple-Zero called them. Even so, the atmosphere was a little tense for her taste.

"Hey, not that this is any of my business," she said, "but why all the drama? I'm... picking up bad vibes. Literally. I think."

"I do not routinely engage in conversation with traitors." Vader snapped. "Forgive my lack of practice in the matter."

"_Traitors?!"_ the girl blurted out._ "_You tried to murder me but go off I guess."

"That makes two of us."

Ahsoka fell silent, and the air grew heavier. Her eyes were glistening, Aphra noticed. She shifted in her seat, unsure of what to say.

"Oookay... How about music then? I have Jatz, Quenk Jazz, some old Rodian Rock... any preference? "

Her hand hovered over the dashboard, waiting for an answer she half-suspected wouldn't come. It didn't. She sighed, and pressed "on". An engaging Zeltron dancer began jiggling over the holo-player, casting the camera sultry looks. Vader gave her a side look.

"Stop judging," she said, opening the food-safe.

"I'm not judging."

"Right," she said, handing him a can of cheap blue mappa. He eyed it with suspicion.

"You won't get drunk on that," she reassured. "Trust me, you've got training."

He grabbed the can, took a sip and coughed. Oh dear. And after all those years on vitapaste he wouldn't call himself picky.

"I will pass."

"Snob."

"What?" He knew what she had said - the vocoder was more suited to barking orders than mumbling - but the word took him by surprise. He wasn't _snobbish_, really. Just... direct.

"Nothing," she said, turning towards Ahsoka. "Ahsoka, would you like a drink? You look beat."

The girl snapped out of her stupor and looked at them numbly, her eyes moist with silent tears.

"I'm fine," she said feebly. "Thank you."

There was a time he would have attempted to comfort her. Now she was a traitor. She could have joined him, become an inquisitor, a Sith apprentice maybe. She chose the Rebellion. Perhaps it was a good thing then, that this time was long gone. His throat clenched. _Perhaps_.

Aphra shrugged.

"Hm. Well if you change your mind... you know where the hooch is. There's food too."

Ahsoka tried to smile.

"How about you?"

"I uh... I just drank weird stuff from a straw. I'm good. Sort of good."

Vader snorted. _Weird stuff from a straw. _That was one way to put it.

The music switched to dissonant Leap-jump.

"They used to play this at Dexe's", Ahsoka said.

"Dex. It's called Dex."

Ahsoka sat upright, pointing her chin up.

"Dex. It's called Dex," she parroted.

"Quit it, Snips."

This time, Ahsoka actually smiled.

"You just called me Snips."

"I thought you hated it, Snips."

"Not anymore, Skyguy."

"Don't. Call me. Skyguy."

"Or what?"

"Permission to intervene, Masters?" Triple-Zero chimed in.

"Denied," came their joint reply.

The droid left the cockpit.

"No Beetee, this doesn't look promising. Humans these days."

Aphra looked at the navicomputer. Two hours left. And the ambient tension lingered.

"By the way Ahsoka, why don't you grab some sleep? You look exhausted. My bunk is..." she paused, remembering the girl's confusion upon finding them there. "You know where it is. Make yourself at home."

"You're right. I _am_ exhausted."

Ahsoka stood up.

"Thank you," she said, bowing her head slightly before leaving the room.

The tension eased a little. Now Aphra had two whole hours to ruminate about her boss meeting her dad. And the longer she dwelt on it, the more the thought worried her.

* * *

Ahsoka jerked awake as he ship hit the ground, bouncing like a spring on its landing gear. She had feared the nightmares, but her sleep turned out dreamless. Yet she remained exhausted. But she had been prepared. Her last encounter with Anakin had left scars on both of them, and as much as she hoped, as desperate as she was for another glimpse of that faint flicker of light, she knew nothing would ever be the same. And it hurt. Malachor had hurt them. And it had changed her. With nothing but Sith artifacts to engineer her escape, she had delved into their secrets, tapped into their power... and made it hers. She had found it, in the end, her one and only way out: one last portal through the Force. She had found it, used it, destroyed it. But for that to happen... A sob escaped her. _She had to_. It wasn't really falling if you didn't _lose it_, right? Not if you could claw your back to the Light. It couldn't be. It mustn't be. And now that she was free, she would help Anakin break out. She had to. For the Rebellion. And for her friend.

* * *

Aphra leaned back in her seat, not quite succeeding to stretch in the cramped space, and switched the engines off. A red light remained on at the bottom of the dashboard, signalling a leak in the secondary fuel tank. Aphra stood up.

"See? This ship is a keeper. Told you the leak wasn't that big. We still have quite a bit," she said pointing at the fuel gauge. "I'll check it up in a minute."

Vader shook his head. Her faith in that piece of junk would be the death of her. She stood there and stared at him, hands firmly planted on her hips. She must have picked up on his exasperation.

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"What you've just been thinking," she said.

Vader gave her a wry look.

"Doctor, what makes you think you're allowed in my head?"

In truth, it was unlikely she had sensed a clear, fully-formed thought. The occurrence was rare, even for him. A general feeling of aggravation? Definitely. But _thoughts_ were another matter. A delicate matter, one that required _control_.

"I didn't..." She paused. "You can read thoughts?" she asked, which such incredulity Vader could almost hear her popping round eyes at him.

"It's not that easy."

And it was lucky, really. He remembered one time, walking through a busy street, when the minds of passers-by had suddenly become as clear as pure water. It had felt like an assault. _"If I don't pay Black Sun..." - "Senator Mothma said..." - "So if that's ten credits..." - "Who's that?" - "Monster" - "Freak" - "Don't come near"... _The incident had barely lasted a minute, and had left him exhausted, his blood pulsing in his ears, physically struggling not to slash through the crowd. He'd stood there paralyzed, feeling like a proton torpedo ready to explode. _"Are you alright, sir?" "Get away from me!" _He hadn't told his master. There was no point.

"Is that a challenge?" Aphra asked.

"No," he snapped, pointing a finger at her. "Do_ not_ try it."

Vader heard steps behind him.

"Hi!" came Ahsoka's voice.

Aphra greeted her with her usual enthusiasm.

"Good morning," he said reluctantly. "Why don't you join Doctor Aphra? She's got a leak to fix."

"It's no big deal, really, I can do that on my own."

Vader shot her an icy look.

"On second thought, maybe I could use a hand. After that we'll go meet my... contact."

"Sure."

Ahsoka followed her into the engine room.

"You don't really need a hand do you?"

"Nope. I've got two," she said, wiggling both arms. "Kidding. Really."

Ahsoka shook her head.

"Would I be wrong to assume he's always like that?"

Aphra chuckled, lifting a panel behind the tank. There was a thin drip on the side on the container, but that was nothing she couldn't manage.

"What did you expect?"

"Honestly? I don't know. A lightsaber in the heart was always a possibility."

Aphra nodded.

"I know the feeling."

Ahsoka gave her a wan smile.

"Yet you're staying."

"Yes." Aphra bit her tongue. Things were getting awkward. "Right. There's a plasma welder right under your left foot."

Ahsoka handed it to her.

"Thanks. Aaaand there we go," she said, sealing the breach. "Easy. Now if you could keep an eye on the kids?"

"Kids?"

"Droids. Just in case. We'll be back in a bit."

"Okay but..."

Aphra waved a hand.

"You'll do great!"

She could still feel Ahsoka's stupefied look as she left the engine room, heading straight for the cockpit.

"There, patched it", she said.

"Then let us not delay."

Vader followed her outside.

They had landed at the foot of a grassy, stony, hillock, the top of which was crowned by a small, hive-shaped mud house.

"Is this where your contact lives?"

"Yes, but he..."

Before she could finish, Vader was leaping up the dirt stairs. There was no point in delaying. The door had been left ajar. He knocked and pushed it.

"Hello?"

The place was, to put it simply, an absolute junkyard. Stone tablets lay scattered all over the clay floor, amidst heaps of old books and worn-out artifacts - there was even a kyber on top of the fireplace. The stew that simmered over the hearth gave off a musty smell, like the underside of a sun-beaten evaporator. At the center of the room, half-hidden by a pile of books, an oldish man was bending over a manuscript, mumbling in... was that Proto-Basic?

The man hardly noticed him. Vader stepped inside.

"Sir, we have need of you."

The man looked up from his work, his eyes popping round.

"Sir?"

"What else should I address you as?"

The man flinched as Aphra entered the room as well. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out.

Aphra sighed, pinching the nose of her mask.

"Oh kriff... try 'Dad'."

**  
**


	9. Chapter 9

Vader’s jaw went slack.

The old man stood agape, blinking at Aphra like she was growing another head, arms hanging at his sides.

Aphra waved at him.

“Hello? Sir?”

The man blinked again.

Aphra raised her middle finger.

“Sir, how many fingers am I holding up?”

The man kept staring, his face nearly turning green.

“Nope. Looks like you broke him.”

Vader’s face went red, heat rising to his ears.

“_I?_” he burst out. “_I _broke him? You could have told me he was your father before we landed at his doorstep!”

“I didn’t know you’d call him ‘sir’!”

“And _what_ was I supposed to cell him?” he shouted. That was the most pathetic excuse he had ever heard, and he had experience in the department.

“Dad. That’s your dad. Come on, Doctor, you cannot possibly be _that_ drunk.”

Vader shot her a death glare. How dare she?

“I. Am not. Drunk.”

Aphra elbowed him in the ribs.

“Of course you are.”

Vader held back a grunt. Bloody elbows.

“What on Malachor do you think you’re doing?”

“Improvising. Clearly, you’re in no condition to do the talking. Now if you would please…”

“What is going on?” the older man cut her off.

Aphra opened her arms in exasperation.

“Finally. We’re looking for the Fortress of Rur – or, well, anything pertaining to the Ordu Aspectu, really – and we thought someone might as well tag along and urgently join us on an urgent quest of the utmost urgency.”

The man knitted his brow.

“Chelli?” One blink. Two blinks. “Get out of the silly suit.”

“Yeaaah… I don’t think you want me to do that.”

“Chelli. Lona. Aphra. I am your father and I…”

“Will probably kill me if you take this thing off my face so the ‘silly suit’ stays on.” She paused, raising her index. “And what makes you think I am Chelli? That is awfully bold of you.” She turned towards Vader. “Isn’t that your first name, Doctor? My, my, what a family!”

Of course. Of course she had to say that. Well, for lack of academic credentials in archaeology, Aphra certainly had mastered the art of digging herself deeper.

“You think I wouldn’t know my daughter if she hid behind a mask? You could turn into a wookie and you’d still be my little Boop.”

Vader’s eyes went back and forth between the two.

“Boop?” he asked in a whisper.

“Don’t ask.”

“Besides,” the scholar continued, “few people are actually aware that the Ordu Aspectu…”

“Is your prime subject of interest?” she interrupted. “Oh, I’m pretty sure that’s the first thing you told every non-mummified sentient being you met in the past three decades.”

“I was going to say ‘had such a strong focus on out-of-body preservation of a being’s essence’ since it appears to be so relevant to your… case… And I do remember telling you about that.”

“Yes, well, you told me a lot of crazy stories. Doesn’t mean I remember them all.”

“All the same. Does that mean you’re going to help me?”

“Hm, let me see. No, Dad, I came all the way here to show you my brand new leather suit. I’m sure you must be scandalized. _Yes, Dad, of course I’ll help you._”

A grin cracked the man’s face.

“I knew you’d come around some day.”

“Yes, yes, nothing like a good old out-of-body experience to reconnect with your loved ones.”

Before they knew it, Vader and the Doctor found themselves squeezed tight in the professor’s arms, staring at each other in awkward silence. A few seconds went on before Vader finally spoke.

“If he talks, he’s dead.”

The professor recoiled, casting his daughter a pleading look.

“Fine,” she said.

“WHAT?! The man all but choked. “Chelli… your own father…”

She shrugged.

“I try not to think about it.” There was a moment of silence. “But, if that’s any comfort: if you talk we’re all dead, Dad. All three of us. Or, well, you and me for sure, and Vader… probably. So don’t talk. Don’t talk and we’ll be fine. Oh, and no papers either.”

“But… what value is the quest for the Ordu Aspectu if its teachings remain secret? Shouldn’t we strive to make the Force for all a reality?”

Vader scoffed. ‘The Force for all’. Sweet buttery huttling. And there he thought Obi Wan had been delusional…

Aphra laid a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Not now. Maybe after the war’s over. If we live to see it end…. And if you still believe it’s worth it.”

“I… I don’t…”

His eyes had become wet, Vader noticed, and his breath was starting to catch.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

“All right, Chelli. I won’t.”

Aphra gave him a brief hug.

“It’ll be fine. Now go pack you things, because you’re getting out of this hole.”

* * *

Her nose wrinkled as the smell of burnt metal rushed into her air vents, and her eyes quickly settled on the blaster tracks that now adorned the bulkheads.

“Who the hell is burning holes in my ship?” she eructed, waiting for the culprit to come forth.

“It already had a few.”

Aphra pivoted on her heels, wagging her index at Vader.

“This is _slander_.”

A sharp beep came from the bedroom, and Triple-Zero appeared at the door.

“Well, we had to defend ourselves, Mistress!”

“No, no, no,” Ahsoka protested, coming out from behind him. “_You_ stole my lightsaber.”

They did what now?

“You were not putting it to good use. Such a simple weapon, and yet the possibilities are a delight to my circuits…”

Oh. Of course.

“All right, Trip. Give it back.”

“But…”

“Give. It. Back.”

An outraged beep followed.

“Quite right, Beetee. Quite right. Ah… there you go, Jedi.”

If her father had only paid limited attention to the conversation, his excitement went through the roof at the mere sound of the word.

“You’re friends with a Jedi?!”

“That’s one way to put it, yes.”

She led him into the room.

“Dad, meet Ahsoka. Ahsoka, this is Dad.”

“Dad, as in… Dad? That’s your dad?”

“Why does everyone act so shocked? I was conceived in the most conventional way, by means of…”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture. Nice to meet you, Mister…”

“Aphra. Professor Korin Aphra.”

“Well, Professor, where do you suggest we begin?”

“Yavin 4. Several manuscripts suggest the Ordu interacted with the Massassi shortly before its decline, and there is one temple in particular that I’ve been meaning to explore. See, I may have part of the map,” he said, gesturing to a bag full of crystals, “but without the proper too to decode it, I am in the dark. Now, all we have to do is figure out how to position these crystals, and pray the Great Massassi Temple delivers.”

“The former Rebel base is a restricted area,” Vader warned. “Consider yourself fortunate that I am at your side.”

“The Rebels set base on Yavin 4?”

“Oh, for kriff’s sake, Dad. The battle of Yavin 4? You know, when they blew up the Death Star? And did you also miss the memo about Alderaan?”

Her father titlted his head.

“The Death Star was real?”

This time, Aphra could swear the collar was the only thing keeping her lower jaw from falling off.

“I… You need to get the holonet.”

“Oh, Chelli, you know what I think of that rubbish.”

“Yes, well, there’s a rubbish screen in the kitchen, and you have some catching up to do.”

“But…”

“Do it. I’ll be in the cockpit. And stay seated during takeoff.”

Vader and Aphra took their seats, both a little stunned by the sheer absurdity of the day.

“You’ll need to request clearance before landing near the temple.” Vader switched on his datapad, quickly going through his files. “It appears the garrison is currently supervised by Captain Magna Tolvan, former head of security on Eadu. Commonly referred to as ‘quite the piece of work’.”

He handed her the datapad, displaying Tolvan’s file.

“Oooh, in that case… wouldn’t mind working the both of you.”

“You… WHAT?”

“You know what.”

“Take off.”

“Fine, fine, sorry. Although in all honesty…”

“Take. Off. Now.”

Aphra ignited the engines, putting full throttle on the repulsorlifts.

“Did I mention that my dad has hyperspace sickness?”

“Lovely.”


End file.
